Am I Me, Or Just Another Prostitute Victim?
by March
Summary: Jackson tries to forget that Lisa almost killed him. Very short one shot.


A/N: This idea popped into my head while I was looking for names of famous 19th century serial killers to be the brother and father of Jackson in my story _History_. Jack the Ripper killed prostitutes. I was morbidly fascinated. Hence, the idea for the story.

(I used to write _The West Wing _fanfic, where I'd research government jobs and bills and politics. Now I research serial killers. Go freaking figure.)

SUMMARY: Jackson tries to forget that Lisa almost killed him. A short one shot.

RATING: M, for sexual situations. And that's all I have to say about that.

Am I Me, Or Just Another Prostitute Victim? 

Smokey bar, large cigars, young women. Jackson didn't mind. On Mondays through Thursdays, he worked as one of the best assassins in the country. Friday through Sunday, he couldn't give a damn. He hugged one of the blonde women close to him. She was tall and skinny and would make a good one night stand. Disposable. Lord knows he needed to get laid as soon as humanly possible.

She giggled and sniffed his sports coat. "Mmm," she said. "Cologne. I love a man who wears cologne."

"That's why I do it, baby," he whispered. "It's all for you." Jackson turned away so he could smoke his cigar in peace. He hated having an audience. Lydia had no clue that he was a trained assassin and could kick her ass all the way into another century if he wanted. She also had no clue that the last time he'd made contact with a woman he'd kidnapped her on an airplane.

"When are you going to take me home?" she asked, taking off her sweater in what seemed to be slow motion. All that was left on her torso was a lacy tank top. He didn't want to admit how sexy it looked on her.

"All in good time, baby. All in good time." He blew smoke out of his mouth in her direction. She coughed and ordered a sangria at the bar. When it came, he practically scoffed out loud. The glass was practically bigger than her head.

Lisa had been infinitely more interesting. At least _she'd _had a sense of humor. It had been kind of cute, pretending to flirt with Lisa at the airport. She'd been so reluctant to let another man into her life. He could tell she was nervous but trying to hide her excitement at the prospect of meeting him. All _this_ girl wanted was him.

Understandable.

Okay, so he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted. He watched her sip the sangria and eye him. He'd have to take her home soon. Jackson imagined what it'd be like to slit her beautiful, flawless throat. Oh, it wasn't like he hated Lydia, or _really_ wanted to cause her bodily harm. It was more the fact that he _could_.

The night didn't take too long to unfold. She danced around the bar that night, laughing lightly and buying the other men drinks. Lydia always came back to him, though. Kept offering more and more cigars. Brought him whiskey at one point.

He closed his eyes for a millisecond and remembered. Remembered adrenaline passing through his body like nothing he'd ever experienced. Remembered shoving her back into the bathroom and enjoying the fact that she was weak. Whispering the truth into her ear and feeling her tremble in his hands. He could almost feel her on him, breathing in fear. He remembered wiping the message off the mirror. He was vaguely aware that the soap had smudged, but was too interested in her reaction to care. They'd both been out of breath. He came close to kissing her, then. Instead he grabbed her chin and thanked her for the quickie. What a dumb ass thing to have said.

"Easy does it, babe," Lydia whispered, interrupting him and breathing deeply. She put her hand on his shoulder as he sat there at the bar, unable to move. "Just relax."

His cell phone rang out, interrupting his brief moment of solace. "Hold on," he said and reached out for it. The boss was never happy when he ignored his phone calls. "Yeah," he muttered. "All taken care of. Yeah, you can trust me." He flipped the phone shut and reached up to put his hand on top of hers. "Where were we?"

She smiled. "You were watching me, baby."

And then suddenly Lydia was freaked out, sitting next to him on the plane, asking to use the restroom. He'd checked out her ass and her legs and tried to look intimidating, even though Jackson knew somehow that if he hadn't been trying to do Charles Keefe in he'd want to fuck her. He longed to put his hands on her, but he was a gentleman. Gentlemen don't do those kinds of things in public. It would be a long time before he'd forget the look on her face as she made eye contact. But then the annoying eleven year old interrupted him. He wished he could have touched her then, but it would have attracted too much attention.

"Are you all right?" Lydia asked, interrupting him once again.

"Just, don't..." he whispered. "Lisa, don't..."

"My name's Lydia," she said, sounding slightly offended. "Who's Lisa?"

He sat up straight as if someone had put a bomb under his chair. "Lydia. I misspoke," he mumbled, hoping to get her to lean in closer. He was highly embarrassed by his mistake.

"I can go by Lisa if you'd like," she said with a grin. Obviously it hadn't offended her too awfully much. He had had a feeling it wouldn't.

"Just hold me," he said as she leaned in even closer. He could smell her alcoholic breath as Lisa popped into his head. Adrenaline. Field hockey stick. Fear. Field hockey vs. a K-BAR. She taunted him as he ran after her. It infuriated him. He just wanted to insert the knife into her chest, into her stomach, and then slit her throat. Unfortunately, she won the battle.

The bar was about to close, so they'd have to leave. It was almost four in the morning. The bar was almost silent. "How much would I owe you if you--" He yawned and didn't finish the sentence.

"I'm pretty high priced," Lydia responded with a toothy grin. "I'm going to go get ready now."


End file.
